


to deviate

by etoshimura



Series: avis [2]
Category: Tokyo Ghoul, Tokyo Ghoul:re
Genre: F/F, take it. fucking take it.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-21
Updated: 2016-06-21
Packaged: 2018-07-16 10:14:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7263853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/etoshimura/pseuds/etoshimura
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>de·vi·ate<br/>verb<br/>ˈdēvēˌāt/<br/>1. depart from an established course.</p>
            </blockquote>





	to deviate

**Author's Note:**

> a collection of moments I only thought of /after/ I wrote the first story.
> 
> im my own beta reader so feel free to rewrite/reword this in ur head if u happen upon any errors.  
> i didnt refer very much to the first story while writing this one so lmao if there are any inconsistencies.. i tried
> 
> @the very little audience who wanted a sequel..... i love all of u 4 reading the first part so here u go

Takatsuki tells me of many things. When she ushers me over to her table (“You’re your own manager, after all!”) to blabber about the places she’s been to and the things she’s done before she forgets, each and every time I’ve come to realize my world is smaller than hers.

  
The places I’ve been to are confined to routine—the apartment that doesn’t feel lived in, the café, the bakeshop where Yoriko works at, Tokyo. I leave the door unlocked and a futon ready just in case Ayato or Hinami come back. I entertain Takatsuki at work and make Hide a cappuccino after. I stop and hesitate, thinking about turning the corner and finally seeing her after all these years before walking away. Eating, scavenging, doing taxes, paying the bills—they’re interruptions, hiccups in my daily motions.

  
When she finishes I excuse myself and we both return to our customs.

 

 

Standing here is always difficult.

  
The sidewalk is the same. Its gray is lighter than the street and a few specks catch the light and glint. The few people that pass me by are all the usual. They don’t spare a glance at me anymore now that I’m part of their schedule, someone to expect.

  
The boutique across the street boasts pastel fashion. She would like that. Is that one of the reasons she works here?

  
I can just take a step. It’s not that hard. Will she ask where my shoes are from? Where I got my hair done?

  
I decide it’s too hot a day to be out and walk back to the apartment.

 

 

While closing up I’ve decided to ask Takatsuki to come over and have dinner at the apartment to control the kind of crap I’d have to throw up at twelve in the morning. Yoriko looked pretty genuine when she gave my okonomiyaki a thumbs up in Home Economics.

  
(I tasted hers too, of course. I ate it all.)

“Um, Takatsuki—“

  
“C’mon, Touka! Just call me Sen already.” She smiles up at me, cheerful and waiting. She’s not wearing her glasses. Unusual. (What’s even stranger is that I notice.) “What’s up?”

  
“Sen.” I pause, letting the intimacy of the name settle over me, then take a deep breath. “Do you want to have dinner at my place…? If you’re not busy.” I keep my eyes on hers, waiting for a response. Holding my breath in.

  
It’s okay if she turns me down. I won’t have to vomit all the time like I used to.

  
(It was worth it, though. Takat— _Sen_ might be worth it, too.)

  
“Oh. Oh, oh, oh! Yes, of course! I’d love to.” Her smile beams even brighter and I exhale discreetly.

  
_…I just asked her out. To dinner._

  
She fidgets in her seat as though she can’t physically contain her excitement. “You can make whatever, I’m not a picky eater. Besides, your café wouldn’t be super popular if your food didn’t match up to your beverages, so I totally trust that you’d serve me some real good stuff!”

  
(That’s a lie, :re’s only popular because of her. Not even I can vouch for our food since our suppliers are ghouls and we, the staff, are _also_ ghouls, so no one in Tokyo really comes here for the food. Well, except for her. Ghoul or not, how she’s plowed through the menu in a week is beyond me.)

  
She digs through her purse on the chair beside her and pulls out a phone. “Is Saturday good with you? What’s your number?”

  
She’s bubbly and bright and a sight for sore eyes, and right now mine are sore enough to need her, not Nishiki looking at us disapprovingly or Yomo with the unreadable expression he always wears.

  
Anyway, if she were a ghoul then we’d have something in common, and if she wasn’t then at least she wouldn’t throw up in the toilet with me. I’m careful enough not to get caught—Yoriko never knew.

  
I wonder how she would react.

 

 

“Don’t tell me I shouldn’t have talked to her. You didn’t say anything so I had to find out for myself.” I say to Yomo after work, while we’re closing. He just stares at me and I hold it.

  
He’s not going to keep me from doing things anymore.

 

 

Maybe Sen likes pastel.

  
She wore it to the café a bunch of times. Then again, she wears everything, so it’s probably all right.

 

 

I’ll have to go to the trouble of buying cookbooks and ingredients and groceries to look normal, but that’s okay. Yoriko and I used to do that all the time.

 

 

“You have a brother, right?” She says a day before our dinner, out of the blue.

  
“What?” My head snaps up. Nowadays I don’t even approach her to ask for her order anymore (it’s always the same now, iced coffee with a dash of milk, what she asked for when she first visited)—we chat instead, but this isn’t the discussion I was anticipating. I was expecting her to toss ideas at me or show me a new cover for one of her old novels, ask me for my input.

  
Not this.

  
“You have a brother, right?” She repeats. Her character feels wildly different from her usual happy disposition, and I notice that she’s observing me. Not looking, not really _looking_ at me.

  
“I know a guy who looks a lot like you, a Kirishima, too. He’s, well, brash.” It’s like she’s provoking me. She _is_ a ghoul. She’s in Aogiri. She _knows_. “I’ve never had any siblings, so I wouldn’t know what it’s like having to grow up with one. What _is_ it like?” She’s smiling. It’s sinister.

  
“Excuse me?” I grip the tray in my hands and, judging from the way her grin widens, they go white.

  
How dare she. She doesn’t know. Doesn’t know what I had to do for him, for us. I couldn’t do it anymore. I couldn’t keep on like that. I _needed_ Yoriko. Why couldn’t he just understand? Understand what dad wanted for us? I could have still stayed his sister. I could have worked for both of us. He could have been friends with her too. We could have stayed a family.

  
“Don’t.” I grit through my teeth. “Don’t analyze me.”

  
She sets her chin in her hands, still sporting that falsely benevolent grin.

  
I scowl and walk away.

 

 

When I pass by Nishiki he shoots me a look.

  
When I skim through racks of coffee beans in the backroom during Yomo’s break he focuses on the newspaper instead of me.

  
When Hide comes over after work I give him a subpar cappuccino. Surely his taste buds notice but he doesn’t pry.

 

 

I should have listened to Yomo, silent though he is.

  
I have a purple pastel dress, a pantry full of groceries and a bag of ingredients lying around, all for her. I can’t believe I did this. What a waste.

  
I should just go back to trying to turn the corner.

**Author's Note:**

> I haven’t found a way to write this in (yet, maybe) but eto resents touka bc yoshimura became a father figure to her instead of being an actual dad for his actual fucking kid, so if ur confused as to why eto ended up messing w/ touka then there u go folks


End file.
